(written by Stacey)
I'm writing backwards- because, well because I'm having a hard time with this.... but I did on my initial draft of this (which I 'copied' and then was gone forever) say that I appreciated this board greatly and I really do. I found it almost 5 years ago when I was leaving and it helped tremendously when I had noone after deciding to stop going to meetings and finding out the truth is a lie. I lived on this board for months and months and couldn't have gotten thru witout it. I'm also ever greatful to JWD for giving me Oompa, and my life would never be the same. I did want to say that in my post and i'm sorry I didnt get that in.
At this point i'm procrastinating. As of today I have all Oompas pictures together and I'm going to print them off, with copies for the boys, and make the big photo boards, blow up a couple images bigger, and planning planning planning. I dont want to." Noone should have to plan their Oompas memorial" is what I keep saying and crying to myself while I snicker because him and I would have thought that was a funny way to put it.
Dammit I loved him so much and he was such a big part of my life. Everyday I take my kids to school and think about how now I'd talk to him after I dropped them off. He'd always call right as I would be picking them up too and then talk to them over the bluetooth speakers in the car. He would have been the person to be here for me if I was going thru this and its not fair. All this time I thought about how much time I spent talking to him, up and down (and a lot of down) talking him out of suicide, talking him out of his vises, telling him of everyone that loves him... I cant tell you how constant and on a rotating basis I had these conversations. He did know everyone cared for him, he just couldn't feel it. He felt so alone and I'm so sad about that because he wasn't. It was like he just couldn't feel the love. He kept spinning in dispair. It was hard to have to talk your friend out of suicide all the time. I would lose on dinner with my family, time with my husband for hours of conversations, but they were all very understanding because everyone loved him. They all didn't think he would really do it. I knew. I always knew. I told everyone of import I could tell. I told the doctors at the hospital the first time and told his wife who was completely oblivious.
The "accident" as he refferered to it, he never delt with it because he could sluff it off as such. It wasn't . The week previous he was a mess and told me what he wanted to do and I repeatedly had these convessations with him about not to do it, please dont. The day before the 'accident' he called me to tell me "I love you, I wanted to say goodbye". I begged and begged. 5 long days later I found out. I knew he was serious. What a horrible outcome. He wrote "this damn helmet saved my life" and that was how he felt. He wanted that to be the true end and he endured months and months of pain and surgerys, not to mention the cage on his face. The last surgery was partially a trigger. He had feeling in his bottom lip but after the surgery he didn't. It was coming up on 2 years since 'the accident' and still had no chance of getting teeth. He shattered his jaw and the doctors had no ability to drill into it. Now he had no feeling in his lip and had a hard time keeping food from coming out of his mouth. He stopped eating, lost a lot of weight.
This time he distanced himself at the end. I wont go into detail but he had some extremely unexpected bipolar outbursts that were more than he even ever imagined. When I spoke to him after, it still wasn't him, the strangest thing I've seen. Slowly I'd hear the real him and even tell him about what had happenend and what he'd said or did and he didn't recall. Then the other new Eric would come back, that was further in dispair than ever. He called and was more desprate than ever about wanting to die. I begged him to go inpatient again, told him I needed help I cant be everything I cant be your therapist I love yo uand I'm here every minute as your friend but I need help with this. He went inpatient. Send me his patient code. That was the last text I recieved. They freakin' dischared him and were doing outpatient shock therapy when he took his life. I know he'd never hurt us like this. I know he loved us. I'm so sorry. I tried and tried. for years. Shit I dont know if I should say all this. UGH I'm so mad at him sometimes. Then I feel guilty for being slightly relieved that I dont have to constantly worry about who is watching him and where is he now. I just need this week to be over soon.
Sorry to ramble.